One Soc's Story
by LV1104
Summary: Everything was perfect for Cherry Valance. Considering that she is a Soc. At the movies, she meets and becomes friends with people whom she would have never become friends with, greasers. Her life will change after something tragic happens to her boyfriend, Bob Sheldon. She is helping both the socs and the greasers. Now she is confused on whether to follow who she is or her heart.
1. Chapter 1: Introduction

Chapter 1: Introduction

I am just a Soc; looking for ways to make Greasers and us Socs work together and stop all the fighting in between these two completely different lives. My name in Sherri Valance, but people calls me Cherry because of my hair. I live on the west side of this little city and the Greasers mainly live either in the north or south where all the poorest of the poor live. We Socs seem to have it rich kids, the west-side Soc. Well let me say something and it can come as a surprise, but things are rough all over. Socs get drunk, drive around at midnight, jump tons of greasers, and maybe even kill some. Greasers though, can be just as worse as Socs. They always carry around switch-blades, they usually do not have good manners, they are not entirely smart about anything, and they can always find ways to pick a fight about anything. Greasers like Ponyboy Curtis and Johnny Cade are not like that though. They are actually very sweet and shy-like. It is hard to believe that Ponyboy Curtis is only 14 years old. He hangs around with bad influences like Dallas Winston. He even smokes too! Anyways, my point is that I want to help both Greasers and Socs. My side of the story begins on that movie night when I was angry at my boyfriend, Bob Sheldon.


	2. Chapter 2: New Friends

Chapter 2: New Friends

Bob, his friend Randy, Randy's girlfriend Marcia, and I all decided to go to a movie together late at night. Marcia and I became good friends because Bob and Randy were such good buds. I do not like the fact that boys and girls Bob's age smoke and get really drunk. When we got to the movies, Marcia and I stormed out of the car.

"Cherry! Please come back Cherry! Cherry, come back right now!" Bob yelled.

"No! You know that I do not like it when you get drunk! Especially that drunk! We are leaving!" I stormed out of there in an instant with Marcia right beside me. "I came here to see a movie and a I movie will see. Whether it is or isn't with Bob," I told Marcia. We found a nice place to sit that was a good view of the movie screen and not too far away from the snack bar. A little bit after we sat down, three greasers sat right behind us. They were all very good-looking to be honest. One of the boys started talking awfully dirty and loud. I was getting mad and then pretended that I did not hear him. He started getting impatient, I could tell by the sound of his voice. So, he put his feet on my chair. He said something very dirty right then and there.

I gave him a cool stare. "Get your feet off my chair and shut your trap!"

"Who's gonna make me?" he said to me.

"That's the greaser that jockeys for the Slash J sometime," Marcia said to me. I knew he looked familiar.

"I know you two. I've seen you around rodeos," he said to us.

"It's a shame you can't ride bull half as good as you can talk it," I told him coolly.

"You two barrel race, huh?" he told us, as if he did not feel offended by my statement.

"You'd better leave us alone," I said in a biting voice, "or I'll call the cops."

"Oh, my, my, you've got me scared to death. You ought to see my record

sometime, baby." He grinned slyly. "Guess what I've been in for?"

"Please leave us alone," I said. "Why don't you be nice and leave us alone?"

He grinned roguishly. "I'm never nice. Want a Coke?"

I was mad by then. "I wouldn't drink it if I was starving in the desert. Get lost, hood!"

He merely shrugged and strolled off.

I looked at the boy sitting next to him. He seemed half-scared of me.

"Are you going to start in on us?" He shook his head, wide-eyed.

"No." I smiled.

"You don't look the type. What's your name?"

"Ponyboy Curtis."

I did not want to be mean, so I just smiled. "That's an original and lovely name."

"My dad was an original person," Ponyboy said. "I've got a brother named Sodapop, and it says so on his birth certificate." He seemed like such a sweet boy when he talked about his brother Sodapop. For some reason though, the name sounded familiar.

"My name's Sherri, but I'm called Cherry because of my hair. Cherry Valance."

"I know," he said. "You're a cheerleader. We go to the same school." He cannot possibly go to high school. He seems too young.

Marcia was apparently thinking the same thing. "You don't look old enough to be going to high school," Marcia said.

"I'm not. I got put up a year in grade school."

I just looked at him. How can a greaser possibly be so smart that they were put up a grade? That seemed so strange. "What's a nice, smart kid like you running around with trash like that for?" That came out a little ruder than I intended though.

"I'm a grease, same as Dally. He's my buddy," he snapped back at me.

"I'm sorry, Ponyboy," I said softly. I said briskly, "Your brother Sodapop, does he work at a gasoline station? A DX, I think?"

"Yeah."

"Man, your brother is one doll. I might have guessed you were brothers- you look alike." He really did look like him, I was not just being nice.

He seemed a bit surprised about that complement. It's not every day he hears a Soc telling him they think his brother is a doll.

"Didn't he used to ride in rodeos? Saddle bronc?"

"Yeah. Dad made him quit after he tore a ligament, though. We still hang around rodeos a lot. I've seen you two barrel race. You're good." I just smiled at that.

"Thanks," I said.

Marcia said, "How come we don't see your brother at school? He's not any older than sixteen or seventeen, is he?"

He immediately winced at the question, "He's a dropout," he said roughly. He did not seem to happy about Sodapop dropping out.

After that, the conversation ended for a good fie to ten minutes.

The other boy came back after getting some snacks and drinks then and sat down beside Ponyboy. He asked Ponyboy where Dallas went, then managed a shy "Hi" to us and tried to watch the movie. He seemed nervous, though. I looked at him, sizing him up as I had Ponyboy. Then I smiled softly, and I sized him up right.

Dallas came striding back with an armful of Cokes. He handed one to both Marcia and I and sat down beside me.

"This might cool you off," he said to me.

I gave him an incredulous look; and then I threw my Coke in his face. "That might cool you off, greaser. After you wash your mouth and learn to talk and act decent, I might cool off, too."

Dallas wiped the Coke off his face with his sleeve and smiled dangerously.

"Fiery, huh? Well, that's the way I like 'em." He started to put his arm around me, but the shy boy reached over and stopped him.

"Leave her alone, Dally."

"Huh?" Dallas was taken off guard. He stared at him in disbelief.

He gulped and got a little pale, but he said, "You heard me. Leave her alone."

Dallas scowled for a second. Dallas got up and stalked off, his fists jammed in his pockets and a frown on his face. He didn't come back.

I sighed in relief. "Thanks. He had me scared to death."

The shy boy managed an admiring grin. "You sure didn't show it. Nobody talks to Dally like that."

I smiled, "From what I saw, you do. What is your name?"

"Johnny. Johnny Cade."

"Thank you again, Johnny Cade," he managed another smile.

Johnny's ears got red. Ponyboy was still staring at him. Apparently it had taken more than nerve for him to say what he'd said to Dallas.

Marcia grinned at them. "Y'all sit up here with us. You can protect us."

Johnny and Ponyboy looked at each other. Johnny grinned suddenly, raising his eyebrows so that they disappeared under his bangs.

"Okay," Ponyboy said nonchalantly, "might as well."

He sat between us, and Johnny sat next to me.

"How old are y'all?" Marcia asked.

"Fourteen," Ponyboy said.

"Sixteen," said Johnny.

'That's funny," Marcia said, "I thought you were both..."

"Sixteen," I finished for her.

Johnny grinned. "How come y'all ain't scared of us like you were Dally?"

I sighed. "You two are too sweet to scare anyone. First of all, you didn't join in Dallas's dirty talk, and you made him leave us alone. Aid when we asked you to sit up here with us, you didn't act like it was an invitation to make out for the night. Besides that, I've heard about Dallas Winston, and he looked as hard as nails and twice as tough. And you two don't look mean."

"Sure," Ponyboy said tiredly, "we're young and innocent"

"No," I said slowly, looking at him carefully, "not innocent. You've seen too much to be innocent. Just not... dirty."

"Dally's okay," Johnny said defensively, and Ponyboy nodded. You take up for your buddies, no matter what they do. When you're a gang, you stick up for the members. If you don't stickup for them, stick together, make like brothers, it isn't a gang any more. It's a pack. A snarling, distrustful, bickering pack like the Socs in their social clubs or the street gangs in New York or the wolves in the timber. He's tough, but he's a cool old guy."

"He'd leave you alone if he knew you," Ponyboy.

"Well," Marcia said with finality, "I'm glad he doesn't know us."

"I kind of admire him," I said softly, so only Ponyboy heard, and then we settled down to watch the movie.

We told them that we'd come with our boyfriends, but walked out on them when we found out the boys had brought some booze along. Randy and Bob had gotten angry and left.

"I don't care if they did." I sounded annoyed. "It's not my idea of a good time to sit in a drive-in and watch people get drunk." My idea of a good time was high-class, and expensive. It was one of those beach-party movies with no plot and no acting but a lot of girls in bikinis and some swinging songs, so it was all right.

We were all four sitting there in silence when suddenly a strong hand came down on Johnny's shoulder and another on Ponyboy's and a deep voice said, "Okay, greasers, you've had it" I almost jumped out of my skin. It was like having someone leap out from behind a door and yell "Boo!" at you.

Another greaser named Two-Bit, was grinning like a Chessy cat. "Glory, Two-Bit, scare us to death!" Ponyboy said.

Then I looked at Johnny. His eyes were shut and he was as white as a ghost. His breath was coming in smothered gasps. Johnny opened his eyes and said weakly, "Hey, Two-Bit."

Two-Bit messed up his hair, "Sorry, kid," he said, "I forgot."

He climbed over the chair and plopped down beside Marcia. "Who's this, your great-aunts?"

"Great-grandmothers, twice removed," I said smoothly.

I couldn't tell if Two-Bit was drunk or not. He cocked one eyebrow up and the other down.

"Shoot, you're ninety-six if you're a day."

"I'm a night," Marcia said brightly.

Two-Bit stared at her admiringly. "Brother, you're a sharp one. Where'd you two ever get to be picked up by a couple of greasy hoods like Pony and Johnny?"

"We really picked them up," Marcia said. "We're really Arabian slave traders and we're thinking about shanghaiing them. They're worth ten camels a piece at least."

"Five," Two-Bit disagreed. "They don't talk Arabian, I don't think. Say somethin' in Arabian, Johnnycake."

"Aw, cut it out!" Johnny broke in. "Dally was bothering them and when he left they wanted us to sit with them to protect them. Against wisecracking greasers like you, probably."

Two-Bit grinned. "Hey, where is of Dally, anyways?"

"He went hunting some action- booze or dames or a fight. I hope he don't get jailed again. He just got out"

"He'll probably find the fight," Two-Bit stated cheerfully. "That's why I came over. Mr. Timothy Shepard and Co. are looking for whoever so kindly slashed their car's tires, and since Mr. Curly Shepard spotted Dallas doing it... well... Does Dally have a blade?"

"Not that I know of," Ponyboy said. "I think he's got a piece of pipe, but he busted his blade this morning."

"Good. Tim'll fight fair if Dally don't pull a blade on him. Dally shouldn't have any trouble."

Marcia and I were staring at them. "You don't believe in playing rough or anything, do you?"

"A fair fight isn't rough;" Two-Bit said. "Blades are rough. So are chains and heaters and pool sticks and rumbles. Skin fighting isn't rough. It blows off steam better than anything. There's nothing wrong with throwing a few punches. Socs are rough. They gang up on one or two, or they rumble each other with their social clubs. Us greasers usually stick together, but when we do fight among ourselves, it's a fair fight between two. And Dally deserves whatever he gets, 'cause slashed tires ain't no joke when you've got to work to pay for them. He got spotted, too, and that was his fault. Our one rule, besides Stick together, is don't get caught. He might get beat up, he might not. Either way there's not going to be any blood feud between our outfit and Shepard's, If we needed them tomorrow they'd show. If Tim beats Dally's head in, and then tomorrow asks us for help in a rumble, we'll show. Dally was getting kicks. He got caught. He pays up. No sweat."

"Yeah, boy," I said sarcastically, "real simple."

"Sure," Marcia said, unconcerned. "If he gets killed or something, you just bury him. No sweat"

"You dig okay, baby." Two-Bit grinned and lit a cigarette. "Anyone want a weed?"

Marcia and I shook our heads at his offering of cigarettes, but Johnny and Ponyboy reached for one. Johnny's color was back and his breathing was regular, but his hand was shaking ever so slightly.

"Ponyboy, will you come with me to get some popcorn?" I asked him.

He jumped up. "Sure. Y'all want some?"

"I do," said Marcia. She was finishing the Coke Dallas had given her. I realized then that Marcia and I weren't alike. I had said I wouldn't drink Dallas' Coke if I was starving, and I meant it. It was the principle of the thing. But Marcia saw no reason to throw away a perfectly good, free Coke.

"Me too," said Two-Bit. He flipped Ponyboy a fifty cent piece. "Get Johnny some, too. I'm buyin'," he added as Johnny started to reach into his jeans pocket.

We went to the concession stand and, as usual, there was a line a mile long, so we had to wait. Quite a few kids turned to look at us- you didn't see a kid grease and a Soc cheerleader together often. Ponyboy seemed to notice.

"Your friend- the one with the sideburns- he's okay?"

"He ain't dangerous like Dallas if that's what you mean. He's okay."

I smiled, but my mind was on something else. "Johnny... he's been hurt bad

sometime, hasn't he?" It was more of a statement than a question though. "Hurt and scared."

"It was the Socs," he said nervously.

He started telling me a story. "It was almost four months ago. I had walked down to the DX station to get a bottle of pop and to see Steve and Soda, because they'll always buy me a couple of bottles and let me help work on the cars. I don't like to go on weekends because then there is usually a bunch of girls down there flirting with Soda- all kinds of girls, Socs too. I don't care too much for girls yet. Soda says I'll grow out of it. He did. It was a warmish spring day with the sun shining bright, but it was getting chilly and dark by the time we started for home. We were walking because we had left Steve's car at the station. At the corner of our block there's a wide, open field where we play football and hang out, and it's often a site for rumbles and fist fights. We were passing it, kicking rocks down the street and finishing our last bottle of Pepsi, when Steve noticed something lying on the ground. He picked it up. It was Johnny's blue-jeans jacket- the only jacket he had.

"Looks like Johnny forgot his jacket," Steve said, slinging it over his shoulder to take it by Johnny's house. Suddenly he stopped and examined it more carefully. There was a stain the color of rust across the collar. He looked at the ground. There were some more stains on the grass. He looked up and across the field with a stricken expression on his face. I think we all heard the low moan and saw the dark motionless hump on

the other side of the lot at the same time. Soda reached him first. Johnny was lying face down on the ground. Soda turned him over gently, and I nearly got sick. Someone had beaten him badly. We were used to seeing Johnny banged up- his father clobbered him around a lot, and although it made us madder than heck, we couldn't do anything about it. But those beatings had been nothing like this. Johnny's face was cut up and bruised and swollen, and there was a wide gash from his temple to his cheekbone. He would carry that scar all his life. His white T-shirt was splattered with blood. I just stood there, trembling with sudden cold. I thought he might be dead; surely nobody could be beaten like that and live. Steve closed his eyes for a second and muffled a groan as he dropped on his knees beside Soda. Somehow the gang sensed what had happened. Two-Bit was suddenly there beside me, and for once his comical grin was gone and his dancing gray eyes were stormy. Darry had seen us from our porch and ran toward us, suddenly skidding to a halt. Dally was there, too, swearing under his breath, and turning away

with a sick expression on his face. I wondered about it vaguely. Dally had seen people killed on the streets of New York's West Side. Why did he look sick now?

"Johnny?" Soda lifted him up and held him against his shoulder. He gave the limp body a slight shake.

"Hey, Johnnycake."

Johnny didn't open his eyes, but there came a soft question. "Soda?"

"Yeah, it's me," Sodapop said. "Don't talk. You're gonna be okay."

"There was a whole bunch of them," Johnny went on, swallowing, ignoring Soda's command. "A blue Mustang full... I got so scared..." He tried to swear, but suddenly started crying, fighting to control himself, then sobbing all the more because he couldn't. I had seen Johnny take a whipping with a two-by-four from his old man and never let out a whimper. That made it worse to see him break now. Soda just held him and pushed Johnny's hair back out of his eyes. "It's okay, Johnnycake, they're gone now. It's okay."

Finally, between sobs, Johnny managed to gasp out his story. He had been hunting our football to practice a few kicks when a blue Mustang had pulled up beside the lot. There were four Socs in it. They had caught him and one of them had a lot of rings on his hand- that's what had cut Johnny up so badly. It wasn't just that they had beaten him half to death- he could take that. They had scared him. They had threatened him with everything under the sun. Johnny was high-strung anyway, a nervous wreck from getting belted every time he turned around and from hearing his parents fight all the time. Living in those conditions might have turned someone else rebellious and bitter; it was killing Johnny. He had never been a coward. He was a good man in a rumble. He stuck up for the gang and kept his mouth shut good around cops. But after the night of the beating, Johnny was jumpier than ever. I didn't think he'd ever get over it. Johnny never walked

by himself after that. And Johnny, who was the most law-abiding of us, now carried in his back pocket a six-inch switchblade. He'd use it, too, if he ever got jumped again. They had scared him that much. He would kill the next person who jumped him. Nobody was ever going to beat him like that again. Not over his dead body... " After he finished his story, we were up in the front of the line.

"All Socs aren't like that," I said. "You have to believe me, Ponyboy. Not all of us are like that."

"Sure," he said.

"That's like saying all you greasers are like Dallas Winston. I'll bet he's jumped a few people."

I no longer felt sick, only sad. "I'll bet you think the Socs have it made. The rich kids, the West- side Socs. I'll tell you something, Ponyboy, and it may come as a surprise. We have troubles you've never even heard of. You want to know something?" I looked him straight in the eye. "Things are rough all over."

"I believe you," he said. "We'd better get back out there with the popcorn or Two-Bit'll think I ran off with his money."

We went back and watched the movie through again. Marcia and Two-Bit were hitting it off fine. Both had the same scatterbrained sense of humor. But Ponyboy and Johnny and I just sat there, looking at the movie and not talking. I quit worrying about Bob and Randy because I made new friends with people I never thought I could possibly become friends with, greasers.


	3. Chapter 3: Scared For Greasers

Chapter 3: Scared For Greasers

AFTER THE MOVIE was over it suddenly came to us that we didn't have a way to get home. Two-Bit gallantly offered to walk us home- the west side of town was only about twenty miles away- but we wanted to call our parents and have them come and get us. Two-Bit finally talked us into letting them drive us home in his car. I think we were still half-scared of them. We were getting over it, though, as we walked to Two-Bit's house to pick up the car. It seemed funny to me that Greasers- if these boys were any example- were just like us. We liked the Beatles and thought Elvis Presley was out, and they thought the Beatles were rank and that Elvis was tuff, but that seemed the only difference to me. Of course Soc boys would have acted a lot tougher, but there was a basic sameness.

"Maybe it is money that separated us," Ponyboy said to me.

"No," I said slowly when he said this. "It's not just money. Part of it is, but not all. You greasers have a different set of values. You're more emotional. We're sophisticated- cool to the point of not feeling anything. Nothing is real with us. You know, sometimes I'll catch myself talking to a girl-friend, and realize I don't mean half of what I'm saying. I don't really think a beer blast on the river bottom is super-cool, but I'll rave about one to a girl-friend just to be saying something." I smiled at him. "I never told anyone that. I think you're the first person I've ever really gotten through to."

"Rat race is a perfect name for it," I said. "We're always going and going and going, and never asking where. Did you ever hear of having more than you wanted? So that you couldn't want anything else and then started looking for something else to want? It seems like we're always searching for something to satisfy us, and never finding it. Maybe if we could lose our cool. We could."

That was the truth. Socs were always behind a wall of aloofness, careful not to let their real selves show through.

"That's why we're separated," he said. "It's not money, it's feeling- you don't feel anything and we feel too violently."

"And"- I was trying to hide a smile- "that's probably why we take turns getting our names in the paper."

Two-Bit and Marcia weren't even listening to us. They were engaged in some wild conversation that made no sense to anyone but themselves.

"You must make such interestin' conversation," Two-Bit said, cocking one eyebrow, "You keepin' your mouth shut and Johnny not sayin' anything." Nobody but Marcia could really get me talking. Untill I met Ponyboy Curtis.

I don't know why I could talk to him; maybe for the same reason he could talk to me. The first thing I knew he was telling me about Mickey Mouse, Sodapop's horse. He said that he had never told anyone about his horse. It was personal.

"Soda had this buckskin horse, only it wasn't his. It belonged to a guy who kept it at the stables where Soda used to work. Mickey Mouse was Soda's horse, though. The first day Soda saw him he said, 'There's my horse,' and I never doubtedit. I was about ten then. Sodapop is horsecrazy. I mean it. He's always hanging around stables and rodeos, hopping on a horse every time he gets a chance. When I was ten I thought that

Mickey Mouse and Soda looked alike and were alike. Mickey Mouse was a dark-gold buckskin, sassy and ornery, not much more than a colt. He'd come when Soda called him. He wouldn't come for anyone else. That horse loved Soda. He'd stand there and chew on Soda's sleeve or collar. Gosh, but Sodapop was crazy about that horse. He went down to

see him every day. Mickey Mouse was a mean horse: He kicked other horses and was always getting into trouble. 'I've got me a ornery pony,' Soda'd tell him, rubbing his neck. 'How come you're so mean, Mickey Mouse?' Mickey Mouse would just chew on his sleeve and sometimes nip him. But not hard. He may have belonged to another guy, but he was Soda's horse.

"Does Soda still have him?" I asked.

"He got sold," he said. "They came and got him one day and took him off. He was a real valuable horse. Pure quarter." We did not say anything for a while. "I kept saving my money for a year, thinking that someday I could buy Mickey Mouse back for Soda. You're not so smart at ten." he said. A few minutes went by.

"You read a lot, don't you, Ponyboy?" I asked.

He seemed startled. "Yeah. Why?"

I kind of shrugged. "I could just tell. I'll bet you watch sunsets, too." I was quiet for a minute after he nodded. "I used to watch them, too, before I got so busy..."

Marcia suddenly gasped. "Cherry, look what's coming."

We all looked and saw a blue Mustang coming down the street. Johnny made a small noise in his throat and when I looked at him he was white.

Marcia was shifting nervously. "What are we going to do?"

I bit a fingernail. "Stand here," I said. "There isn't much else we can do."

"Who is it?" Two-Bit asked. "The F.B.I.?"

"No," I said bleakly, "it's Randy and Bob."

"And," Two-Bit added grimly, "a few other of the socially elite checkered-shirt set"

"Your boyfriends?" Johnny's voice was steady, but standing as close to him as I was, I could see he was trembling. I wondered why.

I started walking down the street. "Maybe they won't see us. Act normal."

"Who's acting?" Two-Bit grinned. "I'm a natural normal."

"Wish it was the other way around," Ponyboy muttered, and Two-Bit said, "Don't get mouthy, Ponyboy" The Mustang passed us slowly and went right on by. Marcia sighed in relief. 'That was close."

I turned to Ponyboy. "Tell me about your oldest brother. You don't talk much about him."

He shrugged. "What's to talk about? He's big and handsome and likes to play football."

"I mean, what's he like? I feel like I know Soda from the way you talk about him; tell me about Darry."

And when he was silent I urged me on. "Is he wild and reckless like Soda? Dreamy, like you?"

"He's..." He burst out bitterly: "He's not like Sodapop at all and he sure ain't like me. He's hard as a rock and about as human. He's got eyes exactly like frozen ice. He thinks I'm a pain in the neck. He likes Soda- everybody likes Soda- but he can't stand me. I bet he wishes he could stick me in a home somewhere, and he'd do it, too, if Soda'd let him."

Two-Bit and Johnny were staring at him now. "No..." Two-Bit said, dumfounded. "No, Ponyboy, that ain't right... you got it wrong..."

"Gee," Johnny said softly, "I thought you and Darry and Soda got along real well..."

"Well, we don't," he snapped. "An' you can shut your trap, Johnny Cade, 'cause we all know you ain't wanted at home, either. And you can't blame them."

Johnny's eyes went round and he winced. Two-Bit slapped him a good one across

the side of the head, and hard.

"Shut your mouth, kid. If you wasn't Soda's kid brother I'd beat the tar out of you. You know better than to talk to Johnny like that." He put his hand on Johnny's shoulder. "He didn't mean it, Johnny."

"I'm sorry," he said miserably. "I was just mad."

"It's the truth," Johnny said with a bleak grin. "I don't care."

"Shut up talkin' like that," Two-Bit said fiercely, messing up Johnny's hair. "We couldn't get along without you, so you can just shut up!"

"It ain't fair!" Ponyboy cried passionately. "It ain't fair that we have all the rough breaks!"

"I know," Two-Bit said with a good-natured grin, "the chips are always down when it's our turn, but that's the way things are. Like it or lump it."

Marcia and I didn't say anything. I guess we didn't know what to say. It's like they had forgotten we were there. Then the blue Mustang was coming down the street again, more slowly.

"Well," I said resignedly, "they've spotted us."

The Mustang came to a halt beside us, and the two boys in the front seat got out. I could hear Ponyboy swallow. Two-Bit started to tuck in his shirttail, but stopped himself in time; he just flipped up the collar of his black leather jacket and lit a cigarette. They didn't even seem to see the others.

"Cherry, Marcia, listen to us..." Bob said to us.

I could hear that Johnny was breathing heavily.

"...just because we got a little drunk last time..."

I was mad. "A little? You call reeling and passing out in the streets 'a little'? Bob, I told you, I'm never going out with you while you're drinking, and I mean it. Too many things could happen while you're drunk. It's me or the booze."

Randy turned to Marcia. "Baby, you know we don't get drunk very often..." When she only gave him a cold stare he got angry. "And even if you are mad at us, that's no reason to go walking the streets with these bums."

Two-Bit took a long drag on his cigarette, Johnny slouched and hooked his thumbs in his pockets, and Ponyboy stiffened. They can look meaner than anything when they want to. Two-Bit put his elbow on Johnny's shoulder. "Who you callin' bums?"

"Listen, greasers, we got four more of us in the back seat..."

"Then pity the back seat," Two-Bit said to the sky.

"If you're looking for a fight..."

Two-Bit cocked an eyebrow. "You mean if I'm looking for a good jumping, you outnumber us, so you'll give it to us? Well..." He snatched up an empty bottle, busted off the end, and gave it to Ponyboy, then reached in his back pocket and flipped out his switchblade. "Try it, pal."

"No!" I cried. "Stop it!" I looked at Bob. "We'll ride home with you. Just wait a minute."

"Why?" Two-Bit demanded. "We ain't scared of them."

I shuddered. "I can't stand fights... I can't stand them..." Ponyboy pulled me to one side. "I couldn't use this," he said, dropping the pop bottle. "I couldn't ever cut anyone..."

He had to tell me that, because he'd seen my eyes when Two-Bit flicked out his switch.

"I know," I said quietly, "but we'd better go with them. Ponyboy... I mean... if I see you in the hall at school or someplace and don't say hi, well, it's not personal or anything, but..."

"I know," he said.

"We couldn't let our parents see us with you all. You're a nice boy and everything..."

"It's okay," he said. "We aren't in the same class. Just don't forget that some of us watch the sunset too."

I looked at him quickly. "I could fall in love with Dallas Winston," I said. "I hope I never see him again, or I will."

I left him standing there with his mouth dropped open, as the blue Mustang vroomed off.

We walked on home, mostly in silence. I hopped into the car in the back seat along with Marcia. It was pretty quiet most of the drive. All that was really making noise was the radio. Marcia and I had a feeling that Bob and Randy were going to start questioning us. We kept on looking at each other, wide-eyed.

"I can't believe that you two were hanging out with greasers! They are white trash with long greasy hair. Those ones could really use a bath," Bob said. Randy half-laughed at that.

"I can't believe that they had the nerve to pick up on our girls like that, Bob!" Randy said to Bob. I could feel my face turning red with anger. Marcia noticed too.

"Calm down Cherry, you don't want to make them angrier than they already are," Marcia whispered to me. Apparently, Marcia said that too loud that Randy and Bob were able to hear.

"Oh, so you're angry with us?! You are our girlfriends! You are socs! You should never be seen talking to them greasers unless you are yelling at them to leave you alone." Bob was lecturing me on whom I should hang out with?

"You cannot tell me whom I am able to talk to or hang out with, Bob. I am not your servant I am your girlfriend! I am not going to let you boss me around!" Before I knew it, I was home. I got out of the car before Bob could answer to my statement. He grabbed my arm. I tried to get loose, but he was too strong.

"If I see you with any of those greasers again, I swear I will slit their throats until the streets are covered with their filthy blood." Bob was not joking around this time. He really could kill Ponyboy and the rest of his friends; I even worry for Dallas too. He has such a spirit that I sort of admire.

"Bob," I said calmly. "You let go of my arm," he let go of me. I ran towards my house with Marcia trailing behind me (Randy and Bob wanted us to have a sleep-over so we could get to know each other more). I looked behind my shoulder before I went into the house. They did not see me because they quickly grabbed out their jugs of alcohol and jugged the whole thing down.

They didn't realize I was still there, so Bob yelled out loud "Let's go and get even with some greasers!" They sped down the road and acting like maniacs in one of those action movies.

"This is not going to turn out well, Cherry." Marcia said to me.

"I know. It is going to be an even worse fight since they are drunk. I'm scared for Ponyboy and the others Marcia. What do you think will happen to them?" She could tell that I was scared. I'm not scared, I'm terrified. I had a pit in my stomach that was telling me that something bad is going to happen. And I had no way of warning Ponyboy and his greaser friends.


	4. Chapter 4:Tragic Death Equals Who's Side

Chapter 4: Tragic Death Equals Who's Side

I woke up the next morning. _I still couldn't believe that all of that happened last night. I sure hope that Ponyboy and the rest of his friends are all right. Bob could have killed them! I better go out and find Bob to see if everything is fine._

When I got dressed, Marcia was still sleeping. I went downstairs and my parents were at the dining room table. It looks like my mother was crying a little. My father had a letter in his hand and when they saw me, they gave it to me. I was a bit confused on what the whole commotion was about. I started to read the letter. . . . .

_Dear Cherry Valance,_

_ This morning at 1:30 am, Bob Sheldon was murdered by a greaser. No one knows who has done it or how it was done, but he was found dead in a park. Witnesses say that a young greaser stabbed Bob with a switch-blade while Bob was drowning another greaser. His parents wish for you to visit them in a week for the funeral. I am sorry to have to tell you this. We will look for more evidence on who has killed Bob._

_ With much pity_

_ -Tulsa Police Department_

I stood there, wide-eyed. _How could this happen? Was Ponyboy there when they killed Bob? Was he the one that killed him? _I started crying just by thinking about it. I immediately ran up the stairs and told Marcia. She was not able to understand me though through all of my tears.

"Bob's dead Marcia! He's dead." Marcia understood me that time because she got up and gave me a big hug. This was probably the worst day of my life. A greaser murdered my boyfriend! There must be a way I can figure out what actually happened and who did this.

Later that day, after I finished crying, I left the house to figure out what exactly happened. The first thing I did was go to the police to see if they had more evidence. They said that they only evidence they had was that the greaser who killed Bob, ran away either to Texas or New Mexico. _How could a fourteen-year-old boy run so far away from home? He must be so scared. _They police told me that the greasers accidently killed Bob out of self-defense. Randy must have come in earlier and said that Bob was drowning one of the boys and the other stabbed him so he would stop. He also told the police that he didn't mean to actually kill him, just to stab him so he would run away. _Ponyboy would never stab or kill anyone, so he must've been the one who was drowning. _

When they told me that that was all of the evidence they had so far, I left. There was only one thing that I could do and that was finding Dallas Winston. Ponyboy trusts Dallas to help them run off, especially since Dallas has done it before.

I went to the vacant lot because that is where most greasers hang out. I found him and walked right up to him.

" I feel that the whole mess was my fault, and I'd keep up with what was coming off with the Socs in the rumble and would testify that the Socs were drunk and looking for a fight and that they fought back in self-defense."

"Would you like to go over to The Dingo for a Coke?"

''No, thank you and you could go straight to hell." I told him in very polite terms.

He stood there silently as I walked away. I really could fall in love with him. I have decided though to try and not to fall in love.

I bet Bob asked for it, to be killed. He is or was still my boyfriend though. Poor Ponyboy has to run away and be hunted down by the police all because of me. All of this was my fault, well partially Bob's because he got drunk. It makes me feel so sad that that was my last memory of him. Besides getting drunk and wanting to kill greasers, he was actually very sweet. He had a soft spot, like Ponyboy does with sunsets. I will miss him dearly, but I guess he wasn't going to be the person for me.

Now I am confused on who's side to take on. The dirty, unmannered greasers; or my dearest and closest friends, the socs?


End file.
